Batduck: Mask of the Ducktasam
by T.S. Blake
Summary: Parody of Batman: MotP! Someone is bumping off the bosses of Goth-Toon City's underworld and Batduck is left to take the blame. But, who is the killer? Will Batduck be able to clear his name? And who is this she-duck from his past? Read and Review please
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything featured in this story. The characters belong to their respective owners or distributors. The story belongs to Paul Dini, Alan Burnett, Michael Reaves, and Martin Pasko. **

**000000000000**

Goth-Toon City's impressive skyline was alight like Las Vegas, all the major entertainment and business epicenters were at work plying their trade. At the center of this was the casino Mecca, the Bijou Casino, run by Anthony D'Amico.

To those in the know, however, Anthony D'Amico was the notorious mobster, Fat Tony, one of the kings of the Goth-Toon underworld. A large man with a nasty temper and history of carrying out the contracts he put on those stupid enough to cross him, he was able to operate with impunity in a city to afraid to touch him. Well, within the law anyway.

He opened the suitcase on the long table that was surrounded by his most loyal henchmen, Legs, Louie, Frankie the Squealer, and Johnny Tightlips. Inside of the suitcase was a hundreds of dollars in counterfeit 100 dollar bills. Louie seized one of the hundred dollar bills and examined it.

"Gee, Tony," he said, "I can barely tell the difference."

Fat Tony smiled arrogantly. "You'd need one of them neuron microscopes. It's letter perfect, right down to the beginnings Yosemite Sam's mustache."

He shut the case; his henchmen knew it was time to get down to business.

"I want the first half of this distributed through the casino by the end of the week," Fat Tony commanded. "I want the other half running through by the end of the month. By then…"

Before he could finish his order, the skylight exploded, showering the mobsters in glass. They all sprang back as a figure, clad in black, blue, and gray spandex costume, matching cape and cowl, and menacing white eyes, landed in the end of the table. The figure looked up. It was Batduck, the Dark Duck of Goth-Toon City, the scourge of the underworld.

Johnny was the first to react, throwing a left hook at Batduck. The crime-fighting mallard ducked out of the way and leveled the mobster with a quick right cross and uppercut. Louie and Legs drew their guns, only to have Batduck spring into action, launching his duck-a-rangs across the room knocking the guns out of their hands.

The two enforcers didn't have the time to react as Batduck soared through the air, using them as a lauchpad to Fat Tony. The pair ate the carpet as Frankie pulled out his gun, opening fire on Batduck, who quickly ducked under the table.

Frankie unloaded the gun into the table, missing his target completely. Batduck heard that the gun was empty and pulled the heavy table up, leaping into the air, and using it as a surfboard, crushing Frankie underneath it.

Batduck looked up for his primary target; Fat Tony stared at the crime-fighter, a snarl on his face. He stepped in before turning on his heels and dashing out of the room. Batduck straightened his posture, turning around and leaping on the table again, making sure Frankie was out cold.

**000000000000**

Fat Tony raced through the bridge that connected the casino to the parking garage. Not even Batduck was fast enough to catch up with him now.

"Anthony D'Amico!" a deep, almost demonic voice called out.

Fat Tony wheeled around, gun drawn.

"Batduck!" he shouted.

The parking garage was soon filled with smoke. The overweight mobster tried to wave the smoke away from his eyes, but it was no use, the smoke was overwhelming him. Tony dashed out of the smoke, the shadow cast upon his large gut.

Tony looked up to see the new figure stepping out of the shadows. He opened fire, unloading the magazine into the figure. The figure did not fall.

"Anthony D'Amico," the demonic voice said again, "your angel of death awaits."

Instead of the Batduck, a new, more ominous character entered the scene. This one was terrifying figure wearing a black and gray costume complete with a billed mask resembling the Grim Reaper's face if the harbinger of death was a duck. From a distance, this new entrant could be confused for the Dark Duck.

"You ain't the Duck!" Fat Tony snarled, swinging the gun over his head.

The Angel of Death reacted faster, slicing the gun in half. Fat Tony stumbled backward.

"Who are you?" he cried. "What'd you want?"

"I want you, Tubby," the Angel of Death rose his arm, a sharp metal claw aimed at the heavyset mobster's head.

The figure was about to strike when the screeching sound of car engine threw caused him to turn around. By the time the wannabe killer turned his attention back to Fat Tony, the mobster was racing toward his car.

Fat Tony got to his car, throwing the briefcase into the passenger seat. He looked up to see his assailant moving toward him slowly, a fog of smoke following him. Was this a sign this thing was from the other side? Honestly, Fat Tony didn't give a damn what it was, he just wanted to get away from it.

The mobster started the car, pressing his foot as hard as he could on the gas pedal, the harbinger still moving a snail's pace. Just as Fat Tony was about to hit pay dirt when the thing leapt into the air, landing on the hood and swinging his claw at Fat Tony, shattering the windshield.

The fat mobster turned the wheel as the hook came at him again, throwing the harbinger to the ground. Fat Tony spotted that he had leveled the creature before he u-turned and barreled down on his attacker.

"This time I've got you now, you son of a-" he never finished his statement as the creature vanished into the fog.

The fog blinded the gangster as he moved through the smoke. By the time he cleared the smoke, he realized he was in trouble.

"Oh sh-" he rasped.

Fat Tony D'Amico's car crashed through the concrete wall guard and crashed through the window of the Bijou. He opened his eyes.

"Ha, they said the Springfield Special was a firetrap," the injured gangster gloated.

Everyone had told him not to buy this car, simply because it was manufactured in Springfield. All the other cars had burst into flames after so much as a head-on collision. But, not his car. His car was strong. His car was dependable. His car…

'KA-BOOM!' Fat Tony's car exploded, killing the mobster outright.

Batduck had heard the explosion, racing into the parking garage. He crossed over to the shattered wall guard, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the burning car. He did not seem to notice that the explosion had altered the casino patrons, all of whom looked up to the parking garage.

"Look," one man called out, "it's Batduck."

The crowd began to murmur over what this might mean for their city and it's supposed protector. Batduck turned away from the scene, spotting the shattered gas that, no doubt, came from the now-deceased Fat Tony's car.

He picked up a piece of glass and saw something that seemed out of place for the shard. He placed it in his utility belt, whipping his head up instinctively, spotting the possible assassin at the stairwell of the parking garage. Batduck took off after the killer, who disappeared from sight.

The Dark Duck had a feeling that this wasn't the end of what he had stumbled on. He looked back at the destroyed section of the parking garage, the police sirens turned up full-blast. No, this wasn't the end. It could very well be the beginning.

**000000000000**

**A/N: And chapter one of my favorite Batman movies is complete. For those of you who don't know the story of Batduck. I hope you guys enjoy reading this because I had a lot of fun writing it. I'd love to hear what you guys think of it. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything featured in this story. The characters belong to their respective owners or distributors. The story belongs to Paul Dini, Alan Burnett, Michael Reaves, and Martin Pasko.**

**000000000000**

"I'm telling you, friends, it's vigilantism at its deadliest," Councilman Robert Underdunk Terwilliger, formerly known as Sideshow Bob, declared from a podium outside of City Hall. "How often are we going to let Batduck step over the line?"

Enforcer Commander Ulysses Ferrell growled at the councilman. His second-in-command, Lucky Piquel, watched his boss' fur bristle. The Enforcer leader may have hated the SwatKats, but Batduck was different. This was a toon who had come to him, told him his plans, worked with him, trusted him, and he would not stand for this kind of bashing.

"I'm sorry, Councilman," he interjected, "but you can't blame the Batduck for what happened to Fat Tony."

"Why not?" Bob snarled. "He's a loose cannon, Commander. And it's not just my opinion. A lot of people, including the Enforcers, I might add, that believe that Batduck is as dangerous as the crooks he hauls in. What kind of city are we running when we have to rely on the support of a potential mad-toon?"

**000000000000**

The television in the Duck-Cave was muted, the feathered hand of Plucky Duck pulled away to focus on the shard of glass he had lifted from the crime scene.

"That, I say, that, I say, right there is a load of Rudolph droppings, sir," Foghorn Leghorn commented to his employer with that erasable Southern drawl, a tray carrying a pot of tea and cup in his hands. "You're the very model of sanity," he placed the tray next to Plucky. "By the way, I pressed your tights and put away your exploding gas balls."

There was a hint of sarcasm in his butler's voice which was not lost on the green duck. He arched an eyebrow at his oldest friend.

"Thank you, Foghorn," he said, returning his attention back to the glass.

"So, whatcha' got there?" Foghorn asked.

"A piece of windshield from Fat Tony's car." Plucky replied. "There's a chemical residue on it. It's kind of nice to know that some of the things from Springfield don't just burn up."

"Was the car from the first 10 seasons? It would explain it."

"Zing!"

Plucky adjusted the sight on his microscope, he wasn't sure what he was looking for, but there something he couldn't shake. He readjusted the sights again, his instincts were right, there was something attached to the glass.

"I say, I say, did you find anything, boy?"

"Yep," Plucky said, that arrogant smile forming on his face. "It seems like some sort of dense long chain macro molecular polymer. Adaptagenic, of course."

"Of course," Foghorn commented. These sorts of things always went over his head.

Besides, he had to prepare the house for the charity gala at Duck Manor.

**000000000000**

Outside of Goth-Toon City, a plane flew overhead.

"I should be landing any minute," one of the passengers said over her cell phone. "It'll be good to see you again, Robert."

"You too," Bob said on the other line. "And don't worry about a thing; we'll clear up these old family finances. Don't forget, you've got a big time city councilman on your side."

"I can't believe it's been ten years," she said solemnly.

"Thinking of looking up some old friends?" Bob asked.

"Don't start, Robert," she said, looking at the latest addition of Fortune, the face of Plucky Duck staring back at her. "He's ancient history."

"That's encouraging," Bob said. "I'll see you soon."

The two hung up their phones.

**000000000000**

The gala was a rousing success. Most of the events held by the Duck Foundation were a rousing success, but tonight it even exceeded Plucky's expectations. He had managed to escape the press long enough to refill his drink when he was joined by Gwen Tennyson, Shirley McLoon, and Brittany Pierce. Each of the young women he considered good friends…as close as he could get to friends…though the blonde girl was a little simple for his tastes.

"Honestly, Plucky," the voice of Gwen Tennyson asked flirtatiously, "all alone in this big house, you never think of marriage? Not even once?"

"Oh, don't say the 'M' word in front of Plucky," Shirley commented, the traces of her Valley Girl accent gone after years of running her father's company. "It makes him nervous."

Plucky glared playfully at his friend.

"What about the 'I' word?" Brittany inquired.

Plucky raised an eyebrow. 'Okay, I'll bite,' he thought. "The 'I' word?"

"Engagement," Brittany said with supreme confidence.

Gwen gave Shirley a look that said, "Who keeps inviting her to these things?"

Shirley countered with the classic, "Do you wanna fight her girlfriend?"

"I'd watch myself with Plucky if I were you, ladies," the husky voice of Rogue the Bat said. She sauntered over to Plucky and the girls, a smug smile on her face and wine glass in her hand.

"First, he wines and dines ya', makes you think you're the only gal he's ever been interested in. And just when you're thinkin' where to register the china," her expression changed to one of annoyed anger, "he forgets your phone number."

Rogue hurled the wine in his face.

"That's Plucky Duck's style."

Before Plucky could say anything to defend himself, she was gone. Plucky didn't even bother to wipe away the wine

"Excuse me," he said to the concerned women.

He moved past them, hoping Foghorn was nearby with a towel.

"A friend in need," a familiar baritone voice interjected, a handkerchief waving in front of his face.

Plucky looked up to see Sideshow Bob standing over him. Plucky took the handkerchief from Bob, wiping his face.

"Councilman," he said politely. "How goes the Bat-bashing?"

"Better than your love life," Bob quipped. "Seriously, Plucky, it's as if you pick them because you know there's no chance at a long-term relationship."

"Says the master of relationships," Plucky quipped.

Bob laughed and continued to press the issue. "Except for that one girl. Gill…Joss…Gosalyn."

The name no one in Duck Manor ever said. Plucky's reaction even caught him by surprise and it almost made him swallow the handkerchief.

"Gosalyn Mallard," Bob said, slapping his host on the back. "Now, there was a sweet little number. How'd you let that one shake loose?"

Plucky coughed up the handkerchief, his now glassy eyes narrowed at Bob. Still he managed a polite 'thanks' to the councilman. But, honestly, was Bob really asking him that question?

"Thanks for the handkerchief, Bob," Plucky said, shoving it back into Bob's breast pocket, "you know where you can stick it."

He had barely been able to gasp out that quip.

"I didn't hurt your feelings, did I?" Bob asked as Plucky pushed past Bob and moved toward the study. The study was the most rational choice; time in there always cleared his head. Closing the door behind him, Plucky walked over to the desk and opened one of the drawers. Inside of said drawer was a picture of as a younger duck, probably in his early 20s, with a young she-duck, around the same age. The picture, no older than 10 years, took Plucky back to a simpler time…a happier time

**000000000000**

10 years earlier, Plucky Duck stood at the graves of his parents, Daffy and Melissa Duck. It was a solemn tradition that he always followed through with every month. But, today there was a change in the air. Plucky, himself, couldn't anticipate it. He was standing by the grave when he heard a voice off in the distance.

"And I swear that if Daddy gets anymore protective, I swear, he's gonna build a moat around my room." The voice was female. "It's times like this I wish you were around to…"

Plucky walked past the tombstones, following the voice. He saw a young she-duck standing in the grass, talking to what appeared to be thin air. She stopped talking.

"Yes," she said after a split second of silence.

"Excuse me," he said to the girl.

The girl turned around and Plucky immediately felt something akin to a kick in the bill, this girl was a knock-out.

"I thought you were saying something," Plucky stammered. "I mean…to me…"

"No," she said.

"Okay," Plucky said before walking away from the girl.

"Do you who that was?" she asked her seemingly non-existent partner in talk. "Plucky Duck. You know, Duck Enterprises. I've seen him around campus a couple of times. Real moody. Cute though."

Plucky turned around again.

"I'm sorry, I heard my name," he stammered again. "Who are you talking too?"

"My mother," the she-duck said, stepping aside to reveal a tombstone that read Morgana McCrawber Mallard.

"Oh," Plucky said. "Well, I didn't mean too."

"It's okay," the she-duck insisted. "We're done. Mom doesn't have much to say today."

Plucky looked at her quizzically. The she-duck began to move toward the cemetery exit.

"Hey, I'm not the only one who talks to their loved ones," she defended.

"I didn't say anything," Plucky insisted, following after this strange yet entrancing girl.

"It's just that when I talk to her out loud," the she-duck explained, "I can imagine how she'd reply. I can hear her like she's right there."

Plucky nodded understandingly. "I talk to my parents too."

"What'd you say?"

"I made a vow."

"What kind of vow?"

"A secret one."

"Ooh," she said, moving in front of him, "a duck of mystery. Have you kept your vow?"

Plucky smiled slyly. "So far."

The two stopped in front of her car, the girl placing her purse in the driver's seat.

"Gosalyn Mallard," she said, extending her hand.

"Plucky Duck," he said, taking her hand and shaking it.

"I know," Gosalyn said, "the boy billionaire."

Gosalyn stepped in toward Plucky reaching around his neck. Plucky wasn't sure what to make of this until he realized she was turning down the collar of his jacket.

"So tell me," Gosalyn pressed. "With all that money and power, how come you always look like you wanna take a header into some jagged rocks?"

"Why should you care?" Plucky asked.

"I don't," Gosalyn quipped, opening the door to her car and stepping into it. "Mother was asking."

She closed the door and drove off, leaving Plucky to wonder if he would ever see her again. The day's shift into night made him put this chance meeting to the back of his mind. The night always brought out the promise he had made years ago. The promise he had no intention of breaking.

**000000000000**

There's old saying, the freaks come out at night. Plucky was pretty sure that there was even a song that mentioned this, but nonetheless, Goth-Toon City was no different. The green duck hit the top of the roof, decked out in an all-black outfit, something reminiscent of a black-ops outfit. He looked down to see a tied up guard and a group of thieves, each one wearing white and black costumes with matching boots and winter facemasks. It was, without a doubt, Team Rocket. They were busy loading a truck with items they had pilfered from the warehouse Plucky stood atop of.

"Okay, Meowth," a purple-haired man said. This was James of Team Rocket, "we're done shopping."

"All clear here," a noticeably New York accent sounded off from the other side of the walkie talkie.

This was his cue. All the years of training were leading to this moment.

"Here goes nothing," Plucky said, pulling the black attack mask over his face.

He leapt from the top of the building letting out a feral battle cry. Unfortunately for our hero, the _Looney Tune_ blood that coursed through his veins did not allow for a perfect entrance. He missed the center of where the criminals had circled and crashed into the nearby garbage cans. He heard the bound security guard groan in frustration.

'This never happens to Super-Mouse,' Plucky groaned, stumbling out of the trash and into the line of sight of the criminals, who seemed more amused than intimidated by the duck in black.

"On your stomachs!" Plucky barked. "Arms spread!"

The Team Rocket quartet exchanged stares before they broke up laughing.

"Did you hear this guy?" a raspy voiced member named Butch asked.

"We better do what Mr. Kung-Fu over there says," another one named Archer quipped, pulling out his pistol.

James followed suit, but as they raised their weapons, Plucky reacted. Reaching into his belt, his launched an edged-ninja ball at James, knocking the gun out of his hand, sending it flying under the truck. With equally impressive skill and speed, he tossed another into the chest of Archer, knocking him back against the wall.

Butch charged at Plucky, swinging a crowbar wildly. Plucky used that rage against, ducking out of the wall and cracking Butch in the jaw, leveling the last armed attacker. What he didn't anticipate was James recovering, putting him in a full-nelson. A hulking man named Tyson moved in for the attack, his fist colliding with Plucky's ribcage and then another punch connected with his face.

Plucky was quick to react, head butting James, forcing him to relinquish his grip. James fell back, his head slamming into the concrete. Plucky then made fast work of Tyson, elbowing him in the face and kicking him in the head, sending him sailing across the ground and into wall.

"Wahoo!" Plucky exclaimed, not noticing that the guard was trying to warn him of impending trouble.

He only noticed when the sound of a shotgun rang out and nearly took his beak with it. Meowth unloaded the shotgun at Plucky, who grabbed the guard and ducked into the warehouse. The Pokémon thief spun on his heels and raced for the truck.

Meanwhile, Plucky propped the guard. "Excuse me," he said politely before taking chase to Meowth.

By the time he reached the lot, Meowth had started the truck and was making his escape. The empty crates in the back of the truck fell in front of him, nearly impeding the wannabe crime-fighter's pursuit of the thief. Silently thanking his training for his increased speed, Plucky leapt for the open doors of the back of the truck, hooking the lock.

Meowth turned the corner, almost throwing Plucky off of the back of the truck, but the tenacious duck held on. Meowth by a police car, where rookie officer Lucky Piquel was sitting in the passenger side, focused on a cup of coffee. The truck passed the cruiser, Plucky waving to the cops.

Lucky's eyes snapped open as he spit out his coffee. What the what was going on here? He put the siren on, his partner picking up the speed, and they began to chase down the thief and the vigilante.

Meowth heard the siren and tried to turn the truck again, only for Plucky to appear in the driver-side mirror. He switched lanes again, only for the cops to pull in front of him in an aggressive manner.

Meowth stepped on the gas, forcing the cruiser onto its side and out of the truck's range. The cruiser flipped onto its roof and came to a stop nearly fifty feet away from the speeding truck. Plucky cringed at the sight, but turned his attention back to his prey. He scaled the truck and leapt onto the roof of the truck as they entered a tunnel. He reached into his makeshift utility belt, pulling out a hammer.

Needless to say, Meowth leapt out of his seat when the hammer came crashing down on the windshield. This caused the truck to begin bobbing and weaving in the tunnel. Meowth slammed onto the brake, sending Plucky tumbling from the cab roof. Plucky hooked the truck grill, hanging on for dear life.

Thinking quickly, Plucky reached into one of the still-filled pouches of his belt, pulling out his spike-strips, tossing them to the ground. The tires exploded, sending the truck onto its side.

A shower of sparks kicked into the air, almost striking Plucky, who hung onto the grill for all he was worth. He managed to crane his head around fast enough to realize that the truck was moving closer and closer to a wall.

"Mother." He cried, closing his eyes and preparing for the end.

When he opened his eyes again, the truck had stopped only ten inches away from the wall. Plucky leapt onto the door of the fallen truck, checking to find Meowth lying in the cab, unconscious. The newly-christened vigilante heard the sound of sirens barreling down at him.

Plucky sprang off of the truck, scaling the wall and escaping the scene as the cops arrived.

**000000000000**

The following morning, an energized, though thoroughly bruised and bandaged, Plucky stood on his front lawn, throwing punches and kicks to the wind. His form was flawless, his normally clumsy nature gone, replaced by a new vigor.

"I read about your anonymous exploits," Foghorn said, looking at the article: **Mysterious Vigilante Repels Bandits**, "and I say, I say, you should pick bull-riding instead, son."

"Sorry, Foghorn," Plucky said, dropping into attack stance, "but the plan is working." He threw a kick. "I had the edge." He dropped low and threw a kick. "I could feel it."

Stopping his practice, Plucky stood erect.

"There was just one problem," he observed. "They weren't afraid of me."

"Would crashing into ash-cans have anything to do with it?"

"Ha, ha, how drawl!" Plucky's face became serious. "I need something that'll strike fear in them right from the start."

He returned to his practice.

"Pardon, Master Plucky," Foghorn interjected. "But, we may have to postpone the shoptalk as it were. I believe you have a visitor."

Plucky turned, unsure what his loyal friend was talking about. He spotted Gosalyn moving toward him, looking as beautiful as ever in a red sundress and white hat. Plucky accidentally swung his arm around and clocked himself in the face, sending him stumbling back. He looked around, noticing that Foghorn had vanished from sight.

"I'm okay," he declared. "I'm okay."

"Hi," she said brightly, suddenly catching sight of the bandages. "Hey, what happened to you? Trip over some loose cash?"

She reached out and touched his shoulder, causing the green duck to squeal in pain. He turned from her, rubbing some feeling back into his arm.

"It's been almost three days since we met and still no calls," she said. "I figured you were dead or something."

Plucky returned to his practice. "You expect every guy you meet to call you?" he asked, surprised by his own flirtatiousness.

"The ones who are smart enough to dial a phone," she quipped with an equally flirty fury.

When she was met with dead air, Gosalyn continued talking. "What is that?" in reference to his martial arts form.

"Jujitsu!" Plucky said, throwing a punch and blocking against his invisible foe.

"Gesundheit," Gosalyn said.

Plucky raised an eyebrow at her.

"It was a joke," she said.

"Jujitsu is no joke," Plucky said. "It takes years to master."

Without saying another word, Gosalyn hooked Plucky's arm and flipped the jujitsu practitioner to the ground with relative ease.

"Got a few moves of my own," she said arrogantly, stepping in front of Plucky, who seemed stunned speechless. "Miss Prince's Self-Defense Class for Girls." She explained.

Much to his own surprise, Plucky started laugh at this comment. This surprised Gosalyn even more.

"He laughs," she said.

Plucky struck, tripping Gosalyn to the ground. He leapt onto her, pinning her arms to the ground. Gosalyn struggled for a few seconds before she smiled at him.

"Nice footwork," she said. "Can you dance too?"

Plucky smiled and he made his move, kissing square on the lips. Foghorn emerged from the house, a tray of lemonade in his hands. He saw the scene unfolding in front of him.

"Oh," he turned back toward the house, leaving his master alone with she-duck that seemed to have captured his attention. He smiled, praying that this would be the thing that put him back on the right track.

**000000000000**

In the present, Plucky sat at the desk in his study, staring at the picture of himself and Gosalyn. They seemed so happy. He heard the study door open and he quickly put the photo back into the desk.

"Master Plucky?" Foghorn pulled Plucky out his memories. "Boy, I'd get back to, I say, I'd get back to the party if I were you. Miss Fawn Deer is dancing on the piano."

"Plucky!" the inebriated voice of Fawn could be heard from the ballroom.

Plucky sighed, walking closer to the door. Time to play millionaire playboy again.

**000000000000**

**A/N: Another chapter in the books…or crossover section…whichever you want to call it. I hope you guys enjoyed it. This one was a wild one and I apologize for taking so long to getting it out.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything featured in this story. The characters belong to their respective owners or distributors. The story belongs to Paul Dini, Alan Burnett, Michael Reaves, and Martin Pasko.**

**000000000000**

A long red limousine with a giant red **R** inscribed on the side pulled up the Goth-Toon Heights Cemetery. The backdoor opened and an aging man with grayish brown hair, dressed immaculately in an orange pinstripe suit stepped out of the car, his bodyguards moving at an exceptionally quick pace, their weapons at the ready. Their employer raised his hand, wordlessly telling them to stand down.

He raised his head into the dim lights in the front of the cemetery entrance, revealing him to be Giovanni, the leader of Team Rocket and one of the most feared mobsters in Goth-Toon City, right behind Fat Tony.

Well, he was now the most feared mobster in the city by default since Fat Tony took the ultimate ride into the River Stix. Giovanni smiled in a grim sense of victory, still the mobster was a friend and he was there to pay his respects. He could gloat another day.

"Wait here," Giovanni ordered the guards, who watched apprehensively as their boss walked into the darkened city of the dead.

"Whatever you say, sir," the larger of the two guards said.

When he was out of sight, one of the guards turned to his compatriot and cautiously stated, "I hear the Batduck iced this guy."

Giovanni did not hear the comment made by his bodyguard, even if he did, he wouldn't have cared. He moved through the cemetery, flashlight in one hand, the wreath in the other, making him stand out more than his taste for flashy suits ever could. He finally arrived at the grave of Fat Tony.

"Tony, Tony, Tony," he said placidly, tossing the wreath on the grave, leveling the vase that held a single red rose, no doubt left by Tony's son, Michael, "you always were a loser."

"Giovanni!" a deep, almost demonic voice bellowed.

The sound of the blood-curdling bass snapped all of Giovanni's legendary survival instinct sprang into action. He quickly turned around, mindful of his surroundings.

"Who's there?" he asked, his voice calm.

He took a couple of steps back, stepping over the fallen vase. Whoever nailed Tony would not be getting him tonight!

His arrogant assertion was put to the test when a familiar fog began to fill the cemetery.

"Giovanni Fortunato," the Ducktasm called out again, moving through the smoke, the right handed claw rising up from the hellish fog, "your angel of death awaits."

Finally faced with the killer of his associate, Giovanni looked into the eyes of what could only be described as the Devil. And this was as close as he was going to get him.

"Step off, freak!" Giovanni declared, stepping toward his foe dramatically before hotfooting the other way, smashing the wreath under his finely-polished shoes.

He was able to escape by running up a hill. Silently cursing himself for leaving his Pokémon at home and not bringing his guards, Giovanni turned to see if he was being followed and tripped over a wheel-barrel.

He patted the dirt that was destined to cover another poor sap on their way to the Great Beyond, but he'd be damned if that was going to be him. Giovanni scanned the ground and saw a pick lying next to the wheel-barrel. He quickly grabbed it and rose to his feet, ready for the boom to drop.

However, the Ducktasm had vanished, even the other-worldly smoke seemed to vanish. He was gone, so Giovanni thought. A brand new cloud emerged from behind him.

"Time to pay for your sins, Giovanni," the creature decreed.

It was now or never. Giovanni charged at his compatriot's killer, the pick raised to strike. The Ducktasm, however, proved much faster than the aging crime boss and the pick was soon stuck in the ground, its handle still held by its user.

The horrified Giovanni looked at his weapon, unsure of how to react to this change in the situation. He looked up to see that his pursuer had vanished once again.

"Giovanni," the chilling voice called out again.

Giovanni whipped around, spotting his assailant. He looked down at the pick handle, spotting a sharpened end.

"Okay, freak," he said, smiling arrogantly. "Catch this!"

He launched the makeshift spear at the Ducktasm, who snapped his fingers, causing the spear to go through his body. Giovanni's reaction was one of abject horror, all feeling had left his body and he began to moan in a fear (You know, kind of like the filler scenes in Dragon Ball Z).

"What the he-" Giovanni didn't even bother to finish this sentence, he turned tail and fled, wishing that Tony hadn't been buried so far away from the entrance. "Hun! Attila! Help me!"

"C'mon!" Attila commanded as the bodyguards raced into the cemetery.

They got to the spot where they knew Fat Tony was buried quicker than they thought humanly possible, their guns at the ready.

"He was up here!" Hun said, fear creeping into his voice as they scanned the area for their boss. "Boss!"

"Boss! Boss!" they called, splitting up.

Giovanni, meanwhile, was moving so fast he would've put the Flash to shame. Unfortunately, unlike the Flash, he didn't the ability to run over holes in the ground. Giovanni was sent tumbling into an open grave, stopping his escape dead cold (Pun almost intended).

He rolled over, sitting up in the grave, his eyes suddenly transfixed by the giant statue of the archangel Michael that stood watch over the empty grave.

"You always were a loser, Giovanni," the Ducktasm said mockingly as he materialized above Giovanni, who stepped back, the fear of God in his eyes.

He tried to climb out of the grave, but the soft dirt made that impossible, it coming out in clumps in his hands.

"Farewell, Giovanni," the Ducktasm said, the smoke disappearing from Giovanni's line of sight.

Giovanni wiped his brow, maybe all the freak wanted to do was scare. Yeah, that was all. That was all he wanted and now he was gone. If only it were that simple. The cloud reappeared, this time swirling around the statue of Michael. The demonic force pushed massive marble monolith to the protector of Heaven onto the screaming mobster.

Hun and Attila had cleared the final hill of the cemetery by the time this happened. They called out for their boss, but got no answer. This was not a good sign. They stopped at the grave, Hun looking in and immediately regretting this action.

Attila looked around the area, hoping to find his boss' assassin. He spotted the killer off in the distance.

"It's the Bat!" he screamed, unloading his pistol at the Ducktasm.

"I thought he was a duck," questioned Hun, joining in with his partner.

"Not the time!" Attila screeched.

The Ducktasm vanished.

"It's the stinking bat!" Attila exclaimed.

"Or duck."

"Shut up!"

**000000000000**

The next morning, at an old apartment now converted into a mansion, an elderly gentleman sat preparing a cup of tea to go with his morning paper. He took a sip before reading the headline: **Second Mob Boss Slain! Has Ducks gone Bats? **He looked at the picture.

"Giovanni," he cried, his trailing to the silhouetted figure of Batduck.

The mortified man felt his chest begin to constrict, the tea cup following from his thin, alien-like fingers. He swung his arms violently, trying to regain his breath. Finally, he stumbled back to his chair, grabbing the nearby oxygen tank, the life-giving air soon coursing through his lungs, alleviating the stress that his spell was putting on his aging heart.

For Senior Senoir, Sr., the writing was on the wall, Batduck had gone crackers. Something had to be done to stop him before he got to him, the final boss of Goth-Toon City. But, how could he stop him? That was the question.

**000000000000**

Meanwhile, Commander Ferrell was reaching the end of his rope with Sideshow Bob. The ambitious politician was on the warpath and had cut a swath into his office, making demands that Ferrell had no intention of keeping.

"What'd you mean **you won't?**" Bob screamed. "You **have** to go after him."

"He didn't do it," Ferrell growled, tossing the paper into a nearby wastepaper basket. "It's garbage, Councilman, the Batduck does not kill. **Period.**"

Ferrell pushed past Sideshow Bob and Lucky, turning back to them.

"If you want him, you get him," Ferrell stated. "I'll have no part of it."

What the good Commander did not know was that Batduck was standing outside on the ledge, a ghost of a smile forming on his lips. He could always count of Ulysses.

"Well, gentlemen," the arrogant voice of Bob cut through any sentimentality. "Any ideas?" he queried, blowing a shot of banaca in his mouth.

**000000000000**

That night, Bob, Lucky, and a cavalcade of officers stood on the roof of the police department, the Duck Signal plastered on the night sky. Lucky looked down at his watch.

"Hmm," he observed. "He's usually here by now."

Bob rolled his eyes inconspicuously. Like Batduck would walk into such an obvious trap.

**000000000000**

Just as Bob had anticipated, Batduck did not have any intention of walking into such an obvious trap. He had fallen for that twice and now lived by that old adage 'fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me three times, I need a new line of work'. Instead, he chose to head to the scene of the latest murder. This new vigilante and these mob bosses had some sort of connection, he was sure of it. He just needed to find the connection.

He searched the entire cemetery, avoiding the police and making notes of everything that seemed suspicious or out of the ordinary. He examined the ground where the pick still lay lodged in the ground.

"There appears to be some sort of chemical residue on the lawn," he said to his trusty recorder. "Could match the traces I found on the glass? Not much, but it's been that kind of night."

He placed the recorder back into his utility belt and was about to leave the cemetery when he realized that it was that time of week. Batduck turned the other way and made the trek to the graves of Daffy and Melissa Duck. He stood silently in front of the grave. He hated showing up in costume, he felt it would only make his parents, in whatever afterlife existed, feel disappointed in a strange way.

He turned to leave when he heard a familiar voice speaking from three rows back.

"I really should invest in a weed-eater," the feminine voice stated.

Batduck looked out from the other side of his parents' grave to see Gosalyn Mallard kneeling at the grave of his mother, collecting weeds.

"Sorry, Mom, but the whole world's going to seed," she griped.

As she completed her griping, she felt that someone was watching her. Gosalyn turned to see Batduck. She stepped back gingerly, as if she unsure how to broach this situation. Batduck seemed equally uncomfortable and he quickly turned, leaving without a word. Gosalyn gave chase to the masked crime fighter, stopping when she realized he had disappeared into the night.

She rested her arm on the tombstone, her eyes catching the names inscribed on the stone. It was true. She had managed to put two and two together a long time ago, but this confirmed.

"Plucky," she whispered in a lamented tone.

**000000000000**

Batduck stood on the roof across from the Che Goth-Toon, the ritziest restaurant in the city. He knew he should be tracking the killer, but Gosalyn's return to Goth-Toon had thrown him for a loop. He had to know why she was back now, and why she was spending time with Sideshow Bob of all people.

Batduck watched the conversation between the councilman and the she-duck, paying close attention to the movement of their lips.

"So I'm having the bank cut through some red tape, says they can roll your money into a higher yield account," Bob explained to an uninterested Gosalyn, who was playing with the locket around her neck.

"Amount," Gosalyn asked, shaking herself out of the doldrums of Bob's explanation. "What amount?"

"I said 'account'," Bob repeated.

"I'm sorry," Gosalyn said. "I was just reminiscing."

Bob nodded, picking up his menu. "That's okay. You must have a lot on your mind."

Bob closed his menu just as a waiter came along to take their order. Batduck watched them order their meal, reading their lips intently.

"Remember this place?" inquired Bob.

"Sure," Gosalyn said. "You, me, and Daddy use to come here all the time."

"How is the old duck?" Bob asked. "You're still close, aren't you?"

"Closer than ever," she said.

"I'm sorry he couldn't make into town this time," Bob said insincerely. "But then, I've always wished I could have some time alone with you."

His hand moved across the table and covered hers. Gosalyn shrugged, a smile forming on her lips.

"Well," she said. "Who knows what the future might bring?"

Batduck's binoculars zoomed in on their hands; the word 'future' ironically brought him back to the past.

**000000000000**

10 years earlier, Plucky and Gosalyn's hands were interlocked as they entered the Goth-Toon's World Fair.

"Welcome to Goth-Toon World Fair," a disembodied voice declared, "a dream of the future. A bright tomorrow filled with hope and promise for all toon-kind."

They climbed to the top balcony surrounding the space needle, to enthralled by each others' presence to pay much attention to the disembodied voice that explained everything that was at the fair.

"This is a vision of a shimmering utopia where we shall all spend the rest of our lives."

The two caught sight of the _World of the Future_ exhibit, it was something they had read about and wanted to see. They raced from the top of the space needle and made their way toward the exhibit trying their best to drown out the annoying jingle composed for the exhibit, performed by giant golden robots.

Gosalyn rested her head on Plucky's shoulder as they sat down in a railcar that brought them through the exhibit, showing them the _City of the Future_. A scaled model of what Goth-Toon City could look like in the decades to come, a fleet of remote planes flying over their head. The next stop was the _House of the Future_, where a robot husband waved to them, a dog barked excitedly, and a housewife robot was hard at work preparing a meal, her knife rising and falling in automated precision. When the ride ended, Plucky and Gosalyn decided to check out the _Vehicles of the Future_ exhibit.

"Do you really think we'll ever see any of this in our lifetime?" she asked.

"You've seen a few of them," Plucky said, gesturing toward the model based off of the Thunderquack.

Since he had retired from commercial and non-commercial piloting jobs, Launchpad McQuack had made a name for himself designing and marketing new model planes. Gosalyn noticed, however, that Plucky's attention had been stolen, not from the more streamlined Thundquack, but to brilliant brown bullet car. He walked away from it, his gaze transfixed on the armor-plated vehicle.

"Plucky," Gosalyn said. "Plucky? I'm talking to you."

"Oh," Plucky snapped out of his daydream. "I'm sorry, Gos. My mind was on something else."

"Like what?"

Plucky shrugged. "Oh, the future."

"Anyone's in particular or the generic variety?" Gosalyn joked as they exited the fair.

"Well, you know," Plucky stammered.

"No I don't," Gosalyn countered. "Since when do you talk to me about your plans?"

They reached the town car, Foghorn waiting for them.

"By the way," she added, "Dad's been wanting to meet you."

"Really?" Plucky inquired.

"Yeah," Gosalyn said. "But I told you weren't up to it."

She was baiting him.

"I could meet him," Plucky said, accepting the challenge.

"Great," she said, kissing him on the cheek. "I'll call him right now."

She whipped around and jumped into the car, quickly dialing the number on the car's phone. Plucky turned to Foghorn, who was watching bemusedly.

"You sure about this?" she asked.

"Sure I'm sure," he asserted. "Not every day a boy gets to meet his hero."

It was public knowledge that Drake Mallard had been the legendary crime-fighter, Darkwing Duck, someone whom Plucky had idolized as a child. While he was in high school, Darkwing had gone public with his identity, claiming that he was done fighting crime, that the cost was too great. He hadn't gone into detail about what the cost had been and it was something that Plucky had always wanted to know.

Gosalyn had given him the rest of the story shortly after they had begun their relationship. Morgana, Gosalyn's adoptive mother, had been killed in a battle with Darkwing's archenemy, NegaDuck, after the wicked double had discovered his true identity. NegaDuck, himself, met with a nasty end himself when, during his final battle with Darkwing, lost control of his chainsaw. Since that day, Drake Mallard had been retired, choosing instead to revamp his late father's business, Mallard Accounts.

Plucky watched his girlfriend as she spoke with her father, turning quickly to his smiling butler.

"Foghorn, what the heck am I doing?" he asked. "This isn't part of the plan. I must be going nuts."

"If I, I say, if I might so bold, Master Plucky," Foghorn stated, "I would say quite the reverse."

**000000000000**

Plucky and Gosalyn arrived at Mallard Accounts just as a much younger-his hair less coifed than it was now-Bob Terwilliger finished his report to the captain behind the captains of industry.

"Excuse me, Mr. Mallard," the young lawyer said, "I've brought the partnership papers. If you could just go over them, sir."

The business transaction was interrupted by the sound of Gosalyn's voice.

"Knock-knock," she called out from the door, Plucky trailing behind her.

Drake smiled, standing up from his chair. "Gos? Well, this is a most pleasant interruption," he said, moving toward the couple. "At last I meet the elusive Plucky Duck."

Drake extended his hand to Plucky, who took it enthusiastically.

"It's nice to meet you, sir," Plucky said respectfully.

"No need to be so formal, Plucky," insisted Drake. "Gosalyn's told me so much about you, it's like we're practically family."'

"Daddy," Gosalyn growled, a red tint forming on her cheeks.

Bob cleared his throat, getting the attention of the ducks.

"Don't mind me, I was just leaving," he said sheepishly, gathering his papers.

Drake shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said to the lawyer. "This is Robert Terwilliger, one of the hot young turks in my legal department." Drake continued to sing Bob's praises as Plucky shook the legal eagle's hand. "He's someone you should get to know."

What the people in Mr. Mallard's office did not that destiny was riding towards them in an intimidating black sedan. Apparently, this was the calling car of the Goth-Toon underworld. Still, while there was time, Drake and Plucky got to know each other as Gosalyn watched, smiling at her father and the he-duck with whom she wanted to spend the rest of her life.

"I hope we're not interrupting anything," Plucky said, having taken a seat.

"Not at all," Drake insisted. "I'm never too busy for Gosalyn and her friends. I tell you, Plucky," he pressed, "I do a lot of financial planning for a lot of people, when it comes to money, you can't take the future for granted," he looked over at Gosalyn. "But, all the money in the world means little if you don't have loved ones to share it with." He took his daughter's hand. "Nothing is more important than family."

Plucky nodded. "Yes, Mr. Mallard."

"Drake," the older duck stated.

"Excuse me, sir," Drake's secretary, Callie Briggs, said from the doorway. Destiny had come knocking. "There's a Senior Senoir here to see you. He says he has an appointment."

The secretary was pushed out of the way and the much younger—and more intimidating form of-Senior Senoir, Sr. stood in the entrance to the office. Drake's face suddenly changed, all the color had drained from him. He suddenly became a stammering old duck.

"If Senior Senoir says he has an appointment, Callie, than Senior Senoir has an appointment."

Senoir entered the room, an arrogant grin on his face.

"That's what I like about your Pop, kiddo," he said to Gosalyn, taking a cigar from the box on Drake's desk, lighting it up in front of them, "he knows his priorities."

Plucky glared at Senoir, he was a good judge of character and he did not like this guy as the older man blew a puff of smoke in the faces of him and Gosalyn.

**000000000000**

Plucky and Gosalyn were exiting the building, Drake having ushered them out of the office.

"Is my shirt too big," Plucky asked, "or is that my feathers crawling?"

"Well," Gosalyn shrugged, "Senior Senoir isn't what you would call a people person."

"No kidding," Plucky said, unaware that they were being watched by a tall rabbit sitting in the driver side of Senior Senoir's sedan.

"Oh, Pluck," Gosalyn groaned. "That's just Daddy's business. He deals with everyone."

"It's not your father, Gos," Plucky said. "It's…everything."

No sooner had he said this did they hear the sound of motorcycles revving. The couple looked up to see two bikers circling a street vendor, while the hood who clearly owned the parked bike closed in on the balding man.

"I said hand over the cash box, man," the hood ordered.

The old vendor gathered the contents on the table and slammed the box closed, pulling it close to his chest. The gray haired hood grabbed the vendor by the shirt, trying to force the box out of his grip.

"Hey, Eddie," he shouted to his cohorts. "Pops here needs some persuading."

"Stay here," Plucky growled. "I've gotta stop this."

"Plucky, don't," Gosalyn pleaded, grabbing his arm.

"What do you expect me to do, Quiverwing, just stand here?" Plucky asked.

Gosalyn nodded. "Just come back in one piece, okay?"

The biker named Eddie snuck up on the old man, cracking him in the back of the head with a slapjack. The vendor crumpled to the ground, the box loosened from his hands. The gray haired marauder was about to pick the box up when Plucky barreled toward him, leveling him with a brutal shoulder tackle.

Eddie attacked the duck, but Plucky turned his momentum on him, sending the biker over the bridge and into the river. Plucky didn't see the gray-haired hood spring to his feet and get back to his bike.

"Better have your insurance paid up, sucker," the crook snarled, pulling a chain out of the side of his motorcycle while his one remaining cohort pulled out a bat.

The chain-wielding thud pressed on the throttle and sped toward Plucky, who stood motionless, waiting for the right time to strike. He found when the bike was only 10 feet from him. Plucky leapt into the air, clearing the handlebars and leveled the biker with a swift punch to the face, knocking him backwards to the ground.

Gosalyn, meanwhile, had stepped in closer to make sure Plucky was okay. Spotting his girlfriend out of the corner of his eyes threw Plucky off his game and he wasn't fast enough to realize that the bat-wielding biker was only a few feet away from him.

The bat slammed into Plucky's chest, splintering in half as the young he-duck was sent bouncing off of the ground as he slammed into the hard pavement.

"C'mon, pick up the box!" the biker yelled to his accomplice. "Pick up the box!"

He howled in delight as the other biker grabbed the cash box and hopped onto his bike. The two criminals sped off down the street, leaving Plucky growling angrily that he couldn't stop the crime.

Gosalyn raced to Plucky's side, as he staggered to his feet.

"Oh, thank God you're alright," she cried, trying to force his arms away from his side. "Let me look at you."

"Gosalyn," Plucky shouted, pushing her away, "please."

**000000000000**

Later that night, at Duck Manor, Plucky sat in his chair, scribbling costume designs on a notepad. This was the fifth one and he still couldn't find the right look. At the same time, however, he was starting to think that the costume wasn't the problem; maybe the plan was the problem. Maybe his vow was the real problem.

"What am I still doing this for?" he asked out loud, tossing the design into the fireplace, the hot embers eating the paper before it had a chance to unfold.

Foghorn stood in the doorway, watching his charge. The old rooster looked up at the portrait of Daffy and Melissa. It was moments like this he felt as though he had failed his dear friends. There was their most prized possession standing in the room, unsure of what decision to make and there was nothing he could say or do to comfort him or make him feel any better.

Plucky moved toward the window of the office, the rain coming down harder than it had ever in Goth-Toon City, even the night of his parents' memorial service.

"It's gotta to be one or the other," Plucky rationalized. "I can't have it both ways. I can't put myself on the line as long as there's someone waiting for me to come home."

"Miss Mallard would be glad to know you feel that way, Master Plucky," Foghorn interjected. "She's holding on line one, sir."

Foghorn reached for the phone, waiting for Plucky to give him the order. Maybe this would be how he helped. He took the phone off of its cradle and held it out to him.

"Master Plucky?" Foghorn asked, seeing the hesitation in the young he-duck's eyes.

"Foghorn, I can't," Pluck said. "Not now."

Plucky grabbed his jacket and started to walk out of the room.

"What shall I say, sir?" Foghorn asked, his hand over the receiver, stopping Plucky in his tracks.

"I don't know," Plucky whispered. "I just don't know!" he shouted, slamming his hand into the doorway.

Foghorn watched Plucky leave; he knew where he would go in this state and what needed to be done.

**000000000000**

Foghorn's instincts proved right. Despite the pouring rain and the ear-splitting thunder and lightning, Plucky was at the cemetery.

"It doesn't mean that I don't care anymore," he explained to his parents. "I don't wanna let you down, honest, but, but it just-it just doesn't hurt so bad anymore. You can understand that, can't you?" he pleaded. "Look, I can give money to the city, they can hire more cops, let someone else take the risk, things are different now."

The lightning roared, giving a menacing glow to the grave of Daffy and Melissa Duck, as if they were voicing their disapproval from the Heavens.

"Please," he begged his parents. "I need it to be different now."

He fell to his knees, his hands pressed against the grave. '

"I know I made a promise," he said, biting back tears. "But, I didn't see this coming; I didn't count on being happy."

Lightning struck again, but it seemed to lack the disapproving vitriol it had once possessed. It was almost as if it was considering the situation.

"Please," he begged, closing his eyes, "tell me its okay."

"Maybe they have."

Plucky turned to see Gosalyn standing in the rain.

"Maybe they sent me," she suggested.

Plucky stood up and Gosalyn raced into his arms. Plucky held onto her, unaware that fate was already conspiring against him and Gosalyn. But, for the moment, everything felt right with the world.

**000000000000**

10 years into the future, Batduck watched Gosalyn from as distance as Bob and her flirted over dinner. He did not have time to ruminate over this as a police helicopter's searchlight closed in on the shadowy alcove where he was perched.

The light shined down on the alcove, but Batduck was nowhere to be found.

**000000000000**

**A/N: Whew! I'm back, baby. And I am making a promise to the readers of this story. I plan on finishing this before the month is over. I hope that you'll hold me to it because I want to finish the story as much as I know you want to see its thrilling conclusion.**

**Also, has anyone got an idea who the Joker is yet? He just made his first appearance in this chapter. Guess? You know you wanna.**

**Dont' forget to read and review, kiddies, because that's the best part about fanfictions.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything featured in this story. The characters belong to their respective owners or distributors. The story belongs to Paul Dini, Alan Burnett, Michael Reaves, and Martin Pasko.**

**000000000000**

Bob always enjoyed walking the streets of Goth-Toon. Well, during the day, where there were respectable people who gave him the attention he needed…especially in an election year. At night, that was another story, he despised walking the streets at night. Mostly because the people were the types of folks you couldn't win over for votes.

He stepped out onto the street when a black sedan zoomed in front of him, coming to a sudden stop.

"Hey!" Bob shouted definitely, his mouth closing the moment the window came down.

It was Senior Senoir, Sr. and the aged mobster looked about as shaken, but more importantly, he looked angry.

"Get in," Senoir barked.

Despite the fact that the man was older than his own father, Bob felt compelled to obey. He looked over his shoulder to make sure that no one of any real importance could see him getting into a known criminal's car and jumped in.

Senoir slammed the door and ordered his driver to get move on. The old man hunched over his oxygen tank, his voice haggard by the emphysema that was slowly killing him, but still carrying the weight that it had when he, Giovanni, and Fat Tony ruled Goth-Toon City.

"All I wanna know is is it true?" he asked the councilman. "Is the Batduck really hitting our people?"

Bob arched an eyebrow at Senoir. They were _his_ people, not Bob's, not by any stretch of the imagination.

"We have eyewitnesses," Bob replied.

"Beautiful," Senoir rasped. "That's just beautiful. Why?" Senoir pondered aloud. "He never leaned on us before. I'm too old for this."

Bob readjusted his tie. "I suppose you could demand police protection," he said facetiously.

"What're you, a comedian?" Senoir bellowed.

"Once upon a time," Bob mused.

"This is the Batduck we're talking about here, a freak job," his temper climbed. "He'll crucify me."

Senoir felt the air being ripped from his lungs and he began to cough, Bob covering his face quickly as the elderly criminal reached for his oxygen tank, pressing the mask to his lips. His breathing evened out enough for Bob to lower his hand.

"Pull over," Bob said to the driver, who acquiesced to his request.

Climbing out of the car, Bob looked back at Senoir.

"It's not very healthy in here," he said before slamming the door in the face of the perturbed Senoir.

**000000000000**

In the Duck-Cave, Batduck sat at the main computer, as he did after every patrol, studying up on any connection the victims might have had in the past or present. It would be in poor taste to say they had future plans, unless selling parkas in hell counted as a criminal business venture.

"O'Neill Funding Corporation," he read from the screen, "Adams Tool and Die."

This seemed to be the spark he needed as the Duck-Wave gave him the results he was looking for.

"I should've known," Batduck growled, getting Foghorn's attention.

"Sir?" he asked, looking up from the fencing saber he was polishing.

"Fat Tony and Giovanni, they have some history together," Batduck explained. "They were partners in dummy corporations set up over ten years ago."

Foghorn approached his master, as the Caped Canard searched for other possible links to the mobsters, the dummy companies, and the mysterious slayer.

"The third director was one Senior Senoir, Sr.," he said, curiosity eking through his normal monotone. "Hmm?" he pondered, rubbing his bill.

He shut down the Duck-Wave

"Senoir's having company tonight," he said, climbing to his feet and moving toward the Duckmobile. "Don't wait up."

Foghorn pursed his beak. "Meaning, I say, meaning that once you're done with him, you'll be seeing her?"

That question stopped Batduck cold.

"You think you know everything about me, don't you, Foggy?" he queried.

"Well, I diapered your bottom," Foghorn retorted, his tone acidic, "I bloody well, I say, I bloody well out to, sir."

That "sir" had the usual Southern bite he had come to expect from his oldest friend, but now was not the time to argue about his love life. There was a killer to catch and a name to clear. Batduck climbed into the Duckmobile.

"Well, you're wrong!" he snapped, the canopy closing over him before he sped out of the cave.

**000000000000**

Getting into Senoir's hacienda was actually rather easy, if you count nearly breaking your neck on the skylight sneaking in "easy". He had been saying it for over ten years now, but Batduck remained convinced that sort of thing never happened to Supermouse.

Batduck moved stealthily through the manor, eventually entering Senoir's office. The old man was nowhere to be found, leaving old papers on the desk. They were not incriminating.

Batduck put the papers back on the desk, turning his attention to the mantle where he saw pictures of Senoir, in his glory days, with a young redhead, a picture of Senoir and Mayor Manx, a picture of Senoir breaking ground for a building, the workers surrounding him, and, finally, a picture of real interest: A picture, possibly taken ten years ago, of Senoir, Giovanni, Fat Tony, and Drake Mallard.

He looked at the picture, tilting his head to the side.

'Gosalyn's father,' he thought, his memories coming alive once again.

**000000000000**

"You know how I've always wanted to see Europe," Gosalyn said as they walked near the rock formations that surrounded Duck Manor. "Well, without all the criminals. Plus, Dad has business there next week. It's some kind of hush-hush deal, he won't tell me anything. He can't even say when we'd be coming back."

"Will you at least try to let me talk you out it?" Plucky pleaded.

"Plucky," Gosalyn said sympathetically.

"Wait," he said, sitting her down on a rock. "Please."

He paused for a moment, trying to find the right words; this was one of those moments in someone's life when the right words meant everything. He was silent for a few moments before he finally reached into his sweater vest.

"Never mind, I'm not good at this," he conceded, pulling out a velvet box. "Here," he handed her the box and bent down on one knee. "You'll get the idea."

Gosalyn opened the box and gasped when she saw a ring with one of the biggest diamonds she had ever seen. She looked up at Plucky, who was rubbing the back of his head.

"What'd you say?" he asked sheepishly.

"Of course, I will," she replied, throwing her arms around him. "I never thought this would happen," she sat back down on the rock as Plucky placed the ring on her finger. "I always thought I had thrown you a curveball, like you never knew what to do with me because I wasn't in the plan."

"You are now," Plucky said firmly. "I'm changing the plan."

Gosalyn kissed Plucky. But, as we all know, in the life of a superhero, even one in training, the good beats were always punctuated by something malevolent. In this case, Plucky and Gosalyn's romantic interlude was interrupted by a bevy of bats that seemed to shoot out of the ground, their screeches filling the air. Plucky and Gosalyn watched as the straight line flew into the air and away from the setting sun. Plucky wasn't sure if this was omen. If it was, what kind was it? He closed his eyes, holding Gosalyn tighter than ever, praying it wasn't a bad one.

**000000000000**

That night, Plucky was escorting Gosalyn home when she spotted something from the backseat of the car.

"Uh oh, looks like Dad has company," she stated, pointing to Drake's lit office, three shadows cast over him. "Business-type company." She turned to Plucky; he could see the concern on her face. "He doesn't usually see clients here, at least, not at this hour."

Plucky helped her out of the car, taking his jacket back from Gosalyn when she shrugged it off.

"Maybe we should wait till tomorrow to give him the good news," she suggested.

"Maybe," Plucky concurred.

"Good night, Plucky," she said. "Foghorn."

"Miss," Foghorn replied politely.

Gosalyn walked up the stairs to the home she shared with her father, passing a tall, grayish rabbit on the porch, a cigarette clutched in his lips. It was the same rabbit that had been watching them only weeks earlier. He purred at the young she-duck, who shot a glare at him and entered her house.

Plucky eyed the rabbit, definitely a professional. Still, there was nothing in the world that could bring him down, even seeing the thug flick his cigarette at the door of his car. He was going to marry the she-duck of his dreams, things were looking up.

**000000000000**

Until the next day, Plucky had spent much of the day exploring the hole from which the bats had come from. He thought it was amazing that he had lived in Duck Manor all his life and he had never seen these caves before.

"It's another cave, all right," he said, climbing up a ladder. "Could be as big as the house judging the number of bats that came out of it."

He pulled himself out of the hole and saw the look on Foghorn's face. The typically stoic rooster looked disturbed. Not a good sign.

"What's wrong?" Plucky asked.

"This came for you, sir," Foghorn said, handing him the velvet box with a note attached to it.

Plucky opened the note.

"'Let with Dad'…'Too young'…'Need time'…'Forget about me'." Plucky crumpled the note.

He closed his eyes, the bats were an omen. An omen that, maybe, he wasn't meant to be happy. Maybe, his original plan was his destiny.

**000000000000**

In the days that followed, Plucky finished his costume, his symbol against the criminal element of Goth-Toon City. He finished the utility belt, gloves, the cape, all of the gadgets he would need in his war. Each article of the costume was now on his person, all he needed was the mask. The mask currently held by Foghorn.

He reached his hand out to his butler, who begrudgingly placed the mask in his master's hands. Plucky affixed the mask on his head and turned to get Foghorn's reaction.

"My God," Foghorn whispered, his eyes widening. He was actually horrified by the young he-duck that he had raised.

Batduck's eyes narrowed in delight, though he didn't smile. He moved past Foghorn to begin his reign of terror on the criminal underworld.

'Perfect.'

**000000000000**

Batduck stood in Senoir's hacienda, still looking at the picture, deciding to take it. It was a clue, he could feel it.

**000000000000**

The last decade had not been kind to the Goth-Toon World Fair; the once sprawling grounds now looked like an eroded wasteland. Senoir's car pulled up to the fairgrounds, stopping at the entrance.

Senoir had decided it was best to go alone, he knew how to handle the situation. Pressing the portable oxygen tank to his mouth, allowing for more air to expand his lungs, he began his search.

"If there was just some other way," he grumbled to himself.

When he reached the World of the Future, the rusting golden robots began to sing that annoying theme song, more off-key from years of neglect. Senoir stepped back, unsure of what to make of this development.

He didn't have to ponder long as bullets from a submachine gun began flying at the robots. Senoir dropped to the ground, the robots' heads flying off in a shower of sparks, effectively silencing the song. Senoir looked up and could see the shadow of the shooter. It was a tall, grayish rabbit dressed in a 1950s-style purple suit with a green tie and black shoes.

The rabbit threw the gun to the ground.

"I hate that song," he sneered, stepping out of the shadows to reveal the now white and scared face of Bugs Bunny.

His sneer turned into a look of surprise.

"Gasp," Bugs cried delightfully. "Can it be? Old Senior "the Wheezer" Senoir, Sr.?"

Senoir stood up as Bugs moved toward him, an air of menace following him as he did.

"Welcome, amigo, it's been a dog's age," he said, wrapping his arm around the elderly man.

"Hello, Bugs," greeted Senoir. "Didn't mean to drop by unannounced."

"Oh, Senoir," Bugs chided, bringing his face closer to Senoir. "Don't be so formal. Me casa nostra es su casa nostra."

The demented rabbit shoved Senoir into the old monorail ride.

"So, what's an old timer like you want with a two timer like me?" Bugs asked.

"Business," Senoir replied. "I've got-"

Bugs was on him like a shot from Elmer's gun pointed at Daffy's head.

"Ooh, business! Sounds like fun!" he said. "Come," he shoved Senoir back into the ride. "We'll repair to more comfortable environment."

He tossed the hat back on Senoir's head.

"Now, hold on to your hat," he advised, slamming the safety bar down at Senoir's groin, "and watch those valuables. It's going to be a bumpy ride."

He jumped into the ride and turned into on, cackling madly, while Senoir screamed, as they made their way through the World of the Future. The ride came to a stop in the house, Bugs hopping out of the ride energetically.

They stopped at the Home of the Future exhibit. Ignoring the choking Senoir, Bugs leapt from the ride, his arms outstretched.

"Honey, I'm home!"

The tiny robot dog yipped at his heels. Bugs tilted his head at the dog.

"Don't mind my home security system," he said to Senoir. "Down, Rusty."

A second later, Bugs punted the dog into the air.

"Can't be too careful with all those weirdos' running around," Bugs said, the irony of his comment not lost on him.

He walked over to the kitchen, where the fem-bot chopped at absolutely nothing. Bugs looked at the counter.

"What, meatloaf again?" he whined. "Oh, I had it for lunch," he looked at Senoir, wrapping his arms around the fem-bot. "Isn't Hazel a cutie?" he asked, squeezing her cheek. "True, she's a real homebody, but, hey, you can't help who you fall in love with."

Bugs accidently pulled a piece of Hazel's face off. He quickly hid it in his jacket. He took Senoir's arm.

"Come," he said, bringing him to the living room, which no longer featured the male robot. "Have a seat, Senoir." He shoved Senoir onto the empty couch before hopping into a nearby chair. "Ah, what's up, Doc?"

"It's Batduck," Senoir shouted, Bugs showing indifference to the old man's problems. "He's gone nuts. First he whacked Fat Tony, then Giovanni, and now he's after me."

"You know, I've been reading lately how old Guano-Duck is wound tight enough to snap," Bugs said, a smile crossing his lips. "Ooh, wouldn't it be great if I finally driven him off the deep end."

"This is no joke," Senoir's panic cut through Bugs' laughter. "Batduck's knocking us off and you're the only one who can take him down," Senoir opened the briefcase he had brought with him, revealing a crisp amount of cash. "Look, five million up front, with whatever you want to finish him off."

Bugs opened his mouth, drawing out his response.

"What'd I look like, pest control?" he asked.

Senoir rose from his seat. "Think, you fool, once he gets me, how long till he comes after you?" Senoir moved in on Bugs. "You know what I'm talking about," he grabbed Bugs by the shirt, pulling him out the chair. "Your hands are just as dirty, dirtier."

Bugs growled at Senoir. "Don't touch me, old man!" he bellowed, his voice changing back to normal. "Oh, Triple S," he chuckled, hugging the old mobster, "no one could take a joke like you. Of course, I'll help you."

"Really?" Senoir said, his sphincter loosening.

"Of course," Bugs said. "I won't let anybody hurt my pal, Senoir."

Senoir gave a light smile to the psychotic rabbit, who pinched his new employer's cheek, trying to make the smile bigger.

"That's what I want to see," Bugs chuckled menacingly, "a nice, big smile."

**000000000000**

"Thanks for another lovely dinner," Gosalyn said, opening the door to her hotel room.

"My pleasure," Bob said, not seeing the change in Gosalyn's demeanor when she spotted that the balcony door was open. "You know," he said, his deep voice putting on the seductive charm, "it's not good to go to bed on a full stomach," he slipped his hand into hers. "We can stay up, talk for a while."

"Sorry, Bobby," Gosalyn put the brakes on the seduction before Bob had the chance, "I've got a killer day tomorrow, but call me, okay?"

She kissed Bob on the lips, much to his surprise.

"Good night," she said, closing the door in front of Bob, who readjusted his tie and walked away, a bit more of a spring in his step.

Gosalyn walked to the long lamp, pulling the switch. The light came on and Batduck stood in the light. Gosalyn did not seemed frazzled by the appearance of the Caped Canard. Of course, she's the daughter of Darkwing Duck, so why should she be frazzled by any masked vigilante?

"So, we meet again," she said coldly, turning back to her bed. "I like the cape. Not sure about the mask though."

Batduck withdrew the picture from Senoir's hacienda from his utility belt.

"Have you ever seen this?" he asked Gosalyn.

"No," Gosalyn replied, taking off her shoes.

"But, it's your father," Batduck pressed. "He's the one who set up their corporate partnership."

"So," she countered, collecting ice for a nightcap, "that's his job."

"He was the one element that tied these gangsters together," Batduck said. "Where's your father now?"

"Haven't a clue," Gosalyn answered coldly, pouring her drink. "Why don't you try Madagacar?"

Batduck grabbed her forcefully, pulling her around, knocking the drink out of her hand.

"That's not what you told Terwilliger," he snarled. "You told him you and your father were closer than ever."

Gosalyn pulled her arm out of Batduck's grip. "You had me bugged, is that it?"

"I can read lips."

"Then read them now. Get out!"

Batduck took a breath, turning away from Gosalyn and heading for the door.

"You still following your dad's orders?" he asked.

Gosalyn poured herself another drink. "The way I see it," she said bitterly, "the only one in this room controlled by his parents is you."

'That's cold,' Batduck told himself, taking one last look at Gosalyn before disappearing into the night.

Gosalyn walked back to her bed, drink in hand. She tried to actually drink it, but the moment she had shared with Plucky was too much. Gosalyn dropped her glass, falling onto her bed, finally getting a chance to cry and let out all of the things she had felt for him in the last ten years.

**000000000000**

**A/N: Another chapter completed. I hope you guys enjoyed reading this. I was able to complete in one day, so that tells me I can finish this before the month is out. I hope to have you support for this endeavor.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything featured in this story. The characters belong to their respective owners or distributors. The story belongs to Paul Dini, Alan Burnett, Michael Reaves, and Martin Pasko.**

**000000000000**

The night rolled in over the Senoir Hacienda and yet there was a very noticeable cloud that seemed to be focused on the massive home of the elderly mobster. That cloud entered the balcony on the top floor and transformed into the Ducktasam, who seemed to be gliding through the house, the purpose of this angel of death extremely clear.

The Ducktasam saw Senior Senoir, Sr. sitting in his chair, a newspaper covering his face. The assassin closed in on the unmoving prey.

"Senior Senoir, Sr.," the cold voice of Ducktasam proclaimed, "your angel of death awaits…"

The Ducktasam ripped the paper away from Senoir, the claw raised, only to discover that the old man was already dead, a twisted smile carved into his lips. Ducktasam stepped back, unsure of how to process this information, but was pulled out this situation by the fact that there was a camera attached to the chest of Senoir. The camera looked up from at Ducktasam.

"Whoops!" Bugs' voice exclaimed in surprise. "Guess the joke's on me. You're not Batduck after all. Looks like there's a new face in Goth-Toon." Ducktasam's ears perked up, there was something ticking in the room. "And soon his name will be all over town. To say nothing of his legs, and feet-" It was a bomb. "-and spleen, and head."

The Ducktasam dove off of the balcony as the hacienda was enveloped by a massive explosion, managing to hook the fire escape of a nearby building. Ducktasam could not help but smile, though under the mask, it was not noticeable. Senior Senoir, Sr. was dead, the mission was nearly complete.

Ducktasam scaled the fire escape and leapt to the roof of the savior building, looking down to see two squad cars on the scene. The Enforcers were actually earning their paychecks this time around. Ducktasam prepared to make another exit when the wind picked up.

But, the wind wasn't created by natural means, as when the Ducktasam looked up. The assassin was not surprised to see the Duck-Wing coming at toward the rooftop. The assassin allowed the fog to rise up as Ducktasam bounded from rooftop to rooftop, Batduck in hot pursuit.

The Duck-Wing plummeted down at the assassin, the pilot was not going to let this killer escape. He set the airship on autopilot, popping open the canopy, and dove at the Ducktasam, tackling the killer to the ground.

"Stay away!" Ducktasam bellowed. "This is not your fight."

'I'm making it mine.' Batduck charged at Ducktasam, who kicked him in the chest, knocking the Caped Canard to the ground.

Batduck tripped Ducktasam.

"This madness ends now!" Batduck declared, diving at his fallen foe, who caught him and flipped him back onto the roof.

Batduck, however, hung onto the criminal's cloak. He managed to keep his grip on Ducktasam, he had the killer in his grasp. The unnatural wind picked up again, a spotlight shining down on the costume vigilantes.

Ducktasam took advantage of the situation, head-butting Batduck in the face, causing him to release his grip on his quarry. Ducktasam's fog began to surround the assassin, who vanished as the crime-fighter dove at the criminal that had framed him, but was too late to catch him.

Batduck emerged from the smoke just as an Enforcer chopper blasted the smoke away with its spinning blades.

"Batduck," the pilot shouted on a megaphone, "this is the Goth-Toon Enforcers. You are under arrest." Batduck turned to the roof where he landed the Duck-Wing, which the Enforcers were now trying pry open with crowbars, two more choppers backing them up. "Step away from the edge of the roof, put your hands on top of your head, and stay in the light."

Batduck arched an eyebrow under his mask. 'They could not be serious.'

Batduck looked around and darted away from the light.

"Oh crap," the pilot said, dropping the chopper down and taking off after the superhero, who was the one now bounding from rooftop to rooftop, doing his best to avoid the spotlight.

"Stay on him," Officer Elmer Fudd ordered, roping himself to the chopper so he didn't fall out. He had learned his lesson the last time.

"Delta 6-3 in pursuit," the pilot said, his voice coming up on every radio that was pursuing Batduck, "subject is moving north up on Lieber Ave. All units be advised, suspect is considered armed and dangerous. Use of deadly force is authorized."

Elmer cocked his shotgun and fired at Batduck, who dove from the ledge and onto a nearby gargoyle. He looked down to make sure that it wasn't a living gargoyle before diving out of sight.

Batduck crashed onto the closest concrete roof, leaping to his feet as Elmer started shooting again.

"Take him down," Elmer ordered. "I've gotta get closer."

The chopper almost crushed Batduck, who leapt into a crevice that overlooked another roof. Batduck landed safely on the ground.

"Woo!" he exclaimed merrily, his reverie was soon ripped away when he heard the sound of guns cocking behind.

"Freeze!" the voice of Lucky Piquel ordered.

Batduck turned around to see Lucky and a dozen of Goth-Toon's finest, all of their guns aimed at him.

"Mother," Batduck screeched under his breath.

He was now moving on instinct, diving off of the side of the building just as the officers started shooting. The cops raced toward the ledge, spotting the Caped Canard swinging across the ledge to a site.

"He's heading for the construction site," Lucky shouted into his radio. "All units acknowledge."

"Roger that, Charlie," one man said over the radio.

A SWAT team truck arrived, popping open the back and a small army of Enforcers charged into the construction site where their prey was last spotted.

Batduck, meanwhile, was hiding behind one of the crates, bullets tearing into his makeshift shield. He ducked into the shadows again, the lights no longer catching him in its possibly lethal glare.

He raced to the edge of the twentieth floor, only to have another chopper appear and rain down a hail of bullets at him.

"All available units to Fourth and Madison," the dispatcher commanded, two more cars arriving, one of them carrying a spotlight, "the construction site. Charlie 3, prepare for gas."

One of the SWAT guys fired a gas grenade into the skeletal building structure. Batduck knew he had to act fast as the grenade exploded, filling the area with a purple gas designed to subdue most normal individuals, but the Batduck was not normal. He raced through the smoke, his shadow casting against the walls.

One of the rookies took aim. "There he is!" he shouted, opening fire on the Caped Canard.

Lucky had finally arrived on the scene, taking notice to something that had escaped both Batduck and the rookie's sense of surrounding.

"Wait!" Lucky ordered, but he was too late.

The stray bullets struck a methane tank, igniting the volatile chemical and causing the second explosion of the night. Batduck was thrown through the air and landed square on his head. The officers outside, covered their eyes, the orange light that tore through the sky nearly blinding them.

"You idiot!" Lucky exclaimed to the rookie. "Get a light up there."

The spotlight snapped on and the Enforcers down below aimed it at the twentieth floor. Batduck groaned in pain, dragging himself across the ruins of the site. Every part of his body was throbbing in exquisite agony, even his bill felt broken and it took a lot to injure that part of his body. He rubbed his head, groaning even louder when he realized that, through his bleary vision, that he was bleeding.

'This is not good,' he thought. And the situation got even worse when he saw the SWAT team entered the floor. 'This couldn't possibly any worse."

He rolled over and he was hit by the spotlight from the chopper finally zeroed in on him.

'I just had to think that, didn't I?'

"Charlie 3 to ground, he's down!"

Batduck knew he only had one chance to pull this stunt off and he pulled out his grappling gun, firing the line into the spotlight. He pressed the retracting button and flew straight at the chopper like a bat (no pun intended) out of hell.

Elmer opened fire on the vigilante

"Fire!" the leader of the SWAT team ordered, the whole team shooting in perfect unison.

Lucky watched in horror as the bullets tore through the air, tearing the figure to pieces. His fears were soon assuaged when the last taters of Batduck's cape fell, revealing that Batduck had pulled the old switcheroo with a wooden construction horse.

"Go around the back!" the SWAT team commander said, the team racing off.

Meanwhile, Batduck, unmasked, was still hanging onto his head, the pain shooting straight to base of his brain. He prayed that no one saw his face, any little ID would signify the end of life as he knew it.

He grabbed a rope and slid down it was quickly and quietly as possible as Lucky and every possible Enforcer in the city closed in on him. He hit the ground running, racing down the alleyway, the Enforcers in hot pursuit. Batduck dove onto a fence and started to climb it, dropping to the ground. He went rolling to the ground, wishing that his face hadn't broken his fall.

Shaking the cobwebs loose as best he could, Batduck leapt to his feet and continued running. The Enforcers started climbing the fence, they were almost on him when a red car stopped in front of the end of the alley. The driver was familiar, but he could barely tell who it was.

"Get in." The voice was decidedly female.

His vision cleared a little.

"Gosalyn," he groaned as she opened the door.

Batduck dove into the car and the she-duck sped off before the Enforcers could reach them. Sweat was pouring down Lucky's brow as he saw the car disappear into the night, he was not looking forward to telling Bob about this disaster.

**000000000000**

"There are, I say, there are certain advantages to have a sturdy cranium, Master Plucky," Foghorn said as he put the finishing touches on Plucky's bandages. "Then again, hard headiness was always your virtue."

Foghorn's eyes diverted downward to the sight of Gosalyn gripping Plucky's arm.

"Well," he said, "I'm sure I have some things to do elsewhere."

He turned and exited the room, leaving the former lovers alone.

"You have," Plucky searched for the right word, placing his hand on hers, "an excellent sense of timing."

"It all over TV," Gosalyn explained. "I had to do something."

"I'm grateful, of course," Plucky said. "But, I still need to know why you're not telling me the truth about your father."

Gosalyn sighed, reaching into her purse. "Well, I suppose the world's greatest detective will find out eventually." She handed him the picture of her father and three murdered mobsters. "You remember Daddy having a meeting that night with his," her delivery of the next word could've made arsenic seem like a delicious cocktail, "partners."

**000000000000**

Gosalyn walked up the stairs to the home she shared with her father, passing a tall, grayish rabbit on the porch, a cigarette clutched in his lips. It was the same rabbit that had been watching them only weeks earlier. He purred at the young she-duck, who shot a glare at him and entered her house.

When Gosalyn entered the house, the sounds of raised voices in her father's office.

"You're a liar and a cheat," Giovanni shouted.

"You've taken what's ours," Fat Tony said.

"You're gonna pay one way or another," Senoir stated.

"No, please," Drake's voice was desperate.

Gosalyn burst into the room.

"Daddy," she asked, "what's going on?"

Senoir took his cigarette out of his mouth. "Sorry you had to see this, Miss Mallard."

Giovanni was the first to move toward Gosalyn, who took an angry swing at the mobster. He dodged the attack and caught her in a chokehold.

"Let her go," Drake commanded, moving toward his daughter with lightening fast reflexes and knocking Giovanni to the floor.

Unfortunately, his reflexes were severely rusted as Fat Tony attacked, his large fist connected to the side of Drake's face, sending the former hero to the floor.

"I'd watch what I did next, Drake," Fat Tony warned.

"Please, Senior," Drake pleaded, climbing to his knees. "Give me one more day. I swear I'll get the money."

"Convince me," Senoir growled.

"This time tomorrow," Drake said. "On my mother's grave, as soon as the European banks open I'll have the whole amount wired to you."

Senoir took another drag of his cigarette, looking at Drake, at Gosalyn, and his associates. He looked back down at Drake, blowing smoke in his face.

"24 hours," Senoir said. "This time tomorrow, you'll have the money or I'll have your heart in my hand. Let's go, boys."

Giovanni stood up and joined Fat Tony and Senoir, who exited the room, leaving the father and daughter alone. Senoir made a clicking sound as he winked at Gosalyn.

"Dad, are you all right?" she asked, darting to her father.

"Pack a suitcase," Drake said. "We've got to get to the airport."

"What? But, you said you have the money."

Drake raced over to his filing cabinet, filling his briefcase with the most important files.

"It's not that simple," he explained. "The money's tied up in investments. It could take weeks to free up."

"But, I can't leave," Gosalyn protested, slamming the cabinet shut. "Plucky proposed to me. We're going to get married."

"Listen to me," Drake said, grabbing his daughter by the shoulders. "I just used up the last shred of pity Senior Senoir has. If I don't pay him back within 24 hours, they'll find us and they'll kill us both!"

Gosalyn smacked her father's hands off of her.

"Why'd you do it, Dad?" she cried. "How could you get involved with these people? After everything you've done-"

"I'm sorry, Gos," Drake said. "But, after your mother I-I just wanted a chance for you to-" Drake hugged his daughter. "I'll get you out of this," he said. "Somehow, we'll be free of those guys." His face transformed to that old Darkwing determination. "Whatever it takes. That's a promise."

**000000000000**

"And that night," Gosalyn said ten years later, "we were on the run. We hid all over Europe, eventually settling on the Mediterranean Coast. Dad was able to parlay the money he embezzled into a fortune. Finally, he had enough to pay them back." Her next comments were laced with bitterness. "Or so he thought. It would never be enough. They wanted interest, compounded in blood." Gosalyn sighed. "He had to find another way."

"The duck in the costume? Your father?" Plucky asked. It was all starting to make sense. The movements of the Ducktasam were certainly out of the Quack-Fu playbook and Drake had the motive.

"He said he'd get them somehow," Gosalyn confirmed his suspicions. "When I heard about Fat Tony, well, I had to come back. To find him. To stop him."

She picked her purse and stood up.

"I'm sorry, Plucky," she said. "That's twice I've come into your life and screwed it up."

She was ready to leave when Plucky grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into their first kiss in 10 years. And, much like their first kiss, Foghorn entered the room with a tea tray.

"Ooh," he said, before turning on his heel and leaving them alone to do…what reunited couples do.

**000000000000**

The next morning, Plucky stepped out onto the balcony porch outside of his bedroom. Gosalyn was watching the waves crash against the mountainous ranges around Duck Manor. He wrapped his arms around her.

"Can we make it work this time?" she asked.

"I want to say yes," Plucky admitted. "But, what's going to come down to between me and your father?"

"Daddy doesn't matter anymore," Gosalyn said, resting her head against his chest.

Plucky hung on to the she-duck of his dreams, not sure how this saga would end. Still, for the first time in a long time, he felt that it had a hopeful ending.

**000000000000**

Gosalyn was getting ready to drive away when Plucky stopped with another kiss. The type of kiss that almost pulls you out your shoes and off of the ground. Gosalyn's arm slipped and she ended up honking the horn, which pulled them out of their liplock.

"I'll see you tonight," she said.

"I'll be here," Plucky stated.

He waved to her as she drove off.

"It's so nice, I say, it's so nice to see you and Miss Mallard back together again," Foghorn said. "Might one ask what this bodes for your alter ego?"

Plucky paused for a moment.

"I not sure, Foggy, everything's happening so fast." He walked over to his desk, the photos littering it. "So much has changed."

"You still love each other?"

Plucky picked up the picture of himself and Gosalyn. "It's true. I love her," he looked at the portrait of his parents. "Maybe after all of this is settled…Maybe then-"

"I'm sure they would've wanted you to be happy, sir," Foghorn said. "But, I have to ask. When this is resolved. Are you prepared to take the love of your life's father? Your idol?"

Plucky sighed. "Am I prepared? Foggy, you're talking to a guy who keeps around chunks of radioactive space cheese in case Supermouse ever goes bad."

He placed the picture on the desk and took another look at the photo he had lifted from Senoir's hacienda. The one of Drake, Fat Tony, Senoir, and Giovanni, but he also noticed something. The gray haired rabbit that was in the background, the same one from the night Gosalyn and her father fled the country. There was something familiar about him.

"Hmm."

"Is something wrong?"

"Maybe," Plucky replied cryptically.

He took a pencil out of the holder and ran the tip across the lips of the rabbit. He would repeat the process to the bottom of the rabbit's mouth, creating a warped smile.

Plucky's eyes widened in horror. "Oh no!"

The laugh of Bugs Bunny filled his head as realized things had just gotten a lot messier.

**000000000000**

**A/N: Well, I guess I was wrong about that end of the month thing. Oh well, I didn't promise on a stack of Bibles, so I guess I'm good. All I have to do now is hope that my readers aren't pissed at me for it.**

**I also wanted to apologize if this didn't live up to expectations, I just felt the need to write the story tonight and then I remembered that it was the second biggest action sequence in the movie right behind the climax, which we're getting closer to with each passing chapter. I guess what I'm saying is is that I'm not sure if this chapter is any good because I've ridden into it with just my enthusiasm and little else. **

**Anyways, tell me what you think and I'll see what I can do to make sure the next chapter is better.**


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